


Thought that you needed me more

by ElenyasBlood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Bloodplay, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rimming, Underage Sex, just very distantly and nothing too gory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenyasBlood/pseuds/ElenyasBlood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://wincestfanficnetwork.tumblr.com">Wincest network fanfiction challenge.</a> I was prompted by my lovely <a href="http://sammichgirl.tumblr.com/">Heather</a>:</p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <b><br/>Weecest/wincest where Sam is worried about how changing schools so often will affect his grades because of his secret long term plans so Dean tries to reassure him, not really understanding Sam’s determination to do so well in school - until he finds out.<br/></b>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Thought that you needed me more

Sam dropped his backpack with a heavy sigh, the sound cutting through the muggy air of the motel room like a knife. With Dad gone for the rest of the week and Dean shopping for groceries, he found himself alone in the shabby kitchen, holding the sheet he’d pulled out of his pocket seconds ago. It was blinding in its whiteness, its stare accusing as the boy sat down to run through his answers all over again.

He’d done the test two days ago, the day they’d arrived in Bainville, Montana, and the dots of red that stained the clean surface reminded him of every single mistake, every failed answer he’d given. It wasn’t much red, still a C, but Sam felt his stomach churn at the thought of his future. What if that was just the beginning? What if he’d fail class after class, getting jackshit done because of their constant moving? What if he’d never make it to Stanford?

Another sigh fell into the silence of the room and Sam pushed the paper away with a frown. He was smart, he knew that. Every teacher he’d ever had had told him so when he handed in his papers, but no matter how hard he tried, the outcome was always the same: C’s, B’s, B+’s, and rarely an A. He had gotten enough encouraging pats on his bony back by concerned teachers, heard enough “Maybe next time, Winchester!” to know where he was heading to: a life as a hunter, condemned to always be second best, never quite reaching the goal. And no matter how hard he’d try, how many books he’d fed to his thirsty mind, without the proper education and continuity he’d fail on everything he wanted to achieve in life.

The loud thud of the front door being kicked open interrupted Sam’s train of thought and begrudgingly he got up. He didn’t bother to return the accusing paper to the safety of his pockets and met his brother halfway in the sparsely furnished living room instead.

“Heya Sammy-boy, ‘s up?” Dean chanted as soon as he spotted the boy in the door frame and his whole face lit up with a smile.

Sam shrugged. “Not much.”

“What’s with the ugly frown, little brother? Somethin’ happen?” Dean mocked as he pushed past the boy before setting the brown paper bag on the kitchen table, making the cans full of cheap pasta and stew rattle quietly.

Sam didn’t even dignify his brother’s tease with a response, just shook his head and started gathering the food from the bag. He was about to stuff the tiny fridge with it as he heard the rustling of paper. He froze.

“You’re such a nerd,” Dean commented as he studied the term paper, eyes lazily checking his brother’s answers.

“Shut up,” Sam replied, more vehement as strictly necessary, slamming the fridge shut forcefully.

Dean shot him a confused look. “No need to be a bitch about it, smartass. I just meant that you’re really geeky. I don’t know shit about-” he glanced at the paper again- “redox reactions and the oxidation of- god, who needs that stuff anyway?”

Sam huffed in anger as he felt his temper flaring, but didn’t so much as glare at his brother before stomping towards him. “Gimme that,” he demanded and tried to snatch the paper from Dean’s hands, his blood boiling hot as the taller boy put it out of his range.

“What’s the matter, Sammy? Are you on your period?”

“Oh my god Dean, shut the fuck up and just give me back my test, okay?” Sam knew that his anger was unreasonable, especially since Dean meant no harm. But the boy’s nerves were already worn thin today and the memory of the pitiful look on the teacher’s face as she handed him the paper still felt like a kick in the teeth. And fuck, it didn’t help to think about the application form for Stanford he was hiding at the bottom of his duffel bag. Far from it! Admittedly, it only made it worse, adding guilt to the poisonous cocktail of self-doubt and anxiety.

“Only when you tell me what’s your fucking problem, boy.” Dean replied and rose up on his tiptoes, bringing the sheet even more out of Sam’s range.

“Nothing,” Sam spat, the curls in his neck bobbing as he tried to reach the stupid paper. “Now give it back to me, asshole.”

A snort and a slight push against Sam’s chest was Dean’s only reply, sending the boy reeling and bringing some distance between their vibrating bodies.

Sam felt his cheeks flush in anger. “Dean, I fucking mean it. I’m not in the mood to put up with your stupid jokes. Give it back to me, it’s mine.”

“Yeah, but it’s just a stupid test. I don’t get why you’re so fucking agitated over it? You wanna frame it? Or is this about a girl?”

Sam flinched. “No, this is _not_ about a girl, Dean. This is about _me_ wanting my fucking piece of paper back and about _you_ being an insufferable asshole about it.” He was close now again, crowding into his brother’s space and pushing their chests together as he tried to nip the test away from Dean’s grasp.

“I’m so not buying your shit, Sam.” Dean replied, his voice even, but with a steep crease appearing between his brows as he stepped away from his little brother. “Look, we can play this idiotic little game all night long, but I’m not backing off. So you better tell me why you make such a fuss about a simple… science test.” His arms came to cross in front of his chest, pressing the paper into the pit of his arm, thoroughly crumbling it.

“’M not gonna tell you anything, Dean,” Sam grumbled, sighing at the sight of the stern look on Dean’s face. He didn’t want to argue anymore and with the anger slowly draining out of him he felt like a stupid, defiant child, picking a fight over nothing.

The older boy cocked his head.

“Dean, please,” Sam muttered and leaned back against the counter, his voice pleading. It seemed like all fight had left him within the blink of an eye, leaving nothing but shame and disappointment in its wake. Uncomfortable silence stretched between them, their eyes boring holes into their skulls, as each of them tried to stare the other down.

“I’m waiting,” Dean muttered eventually, voice now soft and his features smoothing into a concerned smile.

“I… I just don’t want to be like _that,_ ” came Sam’s sudden reply, words tumbling out of his mouth, hanging in the air between them.

Dean’s brows hitched in surprise. “Like _what_?”

“I don’t wanna be a loser in school, okay? I wanna have good grades and this stupid C, it bugs me. It’s like… never being good enough, whatever you do.” Sam didn’t even try to control the string of words that poured out of his mouth as soon he opened it. It felt like they had been stuck inside his throat for the longest time, choking him and leaving him gasping and breathless at night. “It doesn’t matter how hard I try, I can never get better with all the other… things going on in our lives. It’s hard enough to hop from town to town, don’t you think? But with all the moving around and changing schools I’ll never make it to… make it to… you know what? _Never mind…_ ”

Dean’s eyes had gone wide while his little brother’s ramblings went on, the look of sheer disbelief painted across his features. “It’s a C, Sammy. You’ll do better next time. It’s not the end of the world— not even for you, you little nerd. It’s a C-”

“But it’s not enough,” Sam cut in, biting his lip afterward and swallowing another trail of words that bubbled up his chest.

“It’s just school, Sammy,” Dean replied as soon as Sam’s voice had trailed off. “You don’t need that stuff anyway, it’s not important. Classic literature and science won’t keep you alive out there, you hear me?”

“But there’s more waiting for us _out there_ than just monsters and demons and freaking werewolves, okay, Dean?” Sam blurted out and he had to cram his hands into the pockets of his tight jeans to keep them from shaking.

“What do you mean? You wanna go to college?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe,” he muttered defiantly.

Dean’s body went rigid and he seemed to need a moment to regain his composure, his mouth slightly ajar and a look on his face like someone had just kicked him in the guts. “So that’s what this is about, huh?” he mused after a few moments of strained silence. “You wanna… leave?”

Sam shrugged again, his head tilted downward as he studied his shuffling feet. He felt miserable, with his heart racing in his chest and his cheeks burning under his brother’s intense gaze. The air between them had become thick and Dean’s sudden anger flared across Sam’s skin like tiny pinpricks of electricity, surging through him and sending aching red sparks down his spine. “Maybe,” he replied dutifully.

“When? Tomorrow? Next week? Or you gonna grace us with your precious presence a little while longer?” The sarcasm cut deep and Sam squirmed under its sharp bite. He didn’t want to fight over this, hadn’t planned to dwell on the whole subject to begin with, and right now he wanted nothing more than Dean to let go and be done with it. But no such thing happened, and instead Dean’s booming voice kept echoing from the narrow kitchen walls.

“Dad and me, we’re not depending on your decisions, you know? If you feel like going, just go! Leave your family behind and everything we fight for. We’ll gank the thing that killed Mom without your help, just so you know.” The hunter huffed out a deep breath before he continued, voice hoarse and nostrils flared with fury. “But tell me at least one thing, Sam: What is it that makes you wanna run away, huh? Is it Dad? Is it me… is it _us_?”

“Dean-”

“No Sam, don’t even pretend you’re sorry, okay? I’m _done_. We had this conversation before and I just… can’t anymore… I can’t just sit around and wait until you’ve enough of this life… enough of me. I’m going, don’t wait for me. See ya, little brother.”

And with that and a wave of his hand Dean exited the motel room, leaving nothing but the faint scent of gun oil and a sharp pang in Sam’s chest in his wake.

____________________

Dean made good on his threat and didn’t return that night. He didn’t appear on the doorstep as Sam heated a can of pasta and didn’t barge in when Sam decided to take a long, cold shower. He didn’t call, didn’t answer as Sam tried to get him to the phone, and didn’t kick the door open when Sam settled on the sofa to watch pointless re-runs of an old cop show. It seemed like he deliberately tried to forget about Sam and what had happened before and the boy inside the shabby motel room had to roll with it, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise.

But after Sam had thrown up what little he’d managed to eat straight out of the hot can, he didn’t feel like pretending anymore— and just let go of the tears stinging in the corners of his eyes since hours and cried. Curled into himself and face buried in one of the damp pillows, he abandoned every reservation and wept until his throat was sore and his cheeks burnt with tears. Open-mouthed and with his chest wrecked by wet sobs, he soaked the cushions with despair and grief and didn’t stop until he felt like gagging again. But even then, even when Sam needed him most, Dean didn’t show up and after what felt like an eternity Sam fell into a fitful sleep, fueled by nightmares and the feeling of having fucked up thoroughly.

____________________

Something startled Sam and with his body immediately springing into action, he realized that the sun was already dawning outside the windows. The room was immersed in a fuzzy half-light and with streaks of gold and lilac painted across the horizon, the world for once didn’t look so harsh. But the threatening noises at the front door were still present and Sam was on his feet and up against the wooden frame within seconds, clutching a shotgun tight.

“Who’s there?” he rumbled, wincing at the pang in his sore throat, and now that he stood upright he could feel his head spin and his puffy, red-rimmed eyes still stinging with all the tears he’d shed the night before.

There was more shuffling outside and a hushed voice, muttering curses under its breath. Heavy boots scraped over the porch and Sam could feel his heart flutter in his chest. “Dean?” he breathed and never before had he unlocked a door so fast, his fingers shaking and scrambling against the metal as he turned the knob. With a thud Sam dropped the shotgun on the floor before yanking the door open and there he was: _Dean!_ Shoulders hunched and hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, he leaned against the door frame, hair disheveled and nose leaking sticky blood as he tried a crooked smile.

“Dean!” Sam didn’t think twice when he surged forward, flinging himself against his big brother’s tall frame, burying his face in the collar of Dad’s old leather jacket. “Dean, what happened to your face? Shit, Dean where have you been? I was worried sick, Dean. _Dean_ -”

“Shhh, it’s alright, buddy,” the hunter cut in, slinging one arm around Sam’s lithe body as he stepped inside.

“No, it’s not! It’s not _fine_! Where have you been?” Sam felt another wash of tears threatening to flood his cheeks and he snuffled noisily. He knew it was pathetic, clinging to your big brother like that after only one night alone— but couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Out,” was Dean’s clipped reply before kicking the door shut, pressing the shivering bundle closer against his chest in the process.

“Yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious.” Sam muttered while untangling himself somewhat to get a better view of his brother’s face. “Have you been drinking?”

“Who are you? My dad?” Dean replied without heat, but scrunching his nose at the serious look on the boy’s face.

Sam cocked his head.

“Yeah okay, I had a few beers. Happy now?”

Slowly the boy shook his head, watching Dean’s exhausted features, the bags under his eyes and the thin line he’d pressed his mouth into before leaning in. “No, I don’t like it when you drink.”

“So you’re my wife now?” Dean drawled, but allowed Sam to brush his lips across big brother’s cheeks, leaving a trail of sweet, chaste kisses on the cool, scruffy skin.

“Did you start the fight?” Sam asked outright as he let himself be pushed further inside the motel room, their bodies moving together, muscles bunching and skin aching in the desperate need to be conquered by palms, fingers, tongues.

Dean nodded vaguely. “Was an asshole,” he slurred. “Had it coming for a long time.”

Sam’s eyes turned dark as they flickered to where Dean was hurt, pushing his face impossibly closer, sticking it up into the hunter’s. “You’re an idiot.”

The blood was warm and sticky when Sam dipped his tongue in, low moans forming in both their throats at sensation of the wet, messy touch. The kiss tasted sweet and metallic, smelled like Dean and sweat and the boy kept lapping at the sticky crimson until he’d removed every single drop from big brother’s upper lip and then some. It was like an addiction, where you just can’t stop no matter how hard you try— and Sam didn’t even try to restrain himself to begin with, just kept laving the swollen skin instead, licking hot swipes across Dean’s nose and mouth, down to his chin and back up again until both their bodies vibrated with hot want.

“God Sammy, ‘m so sorry,” Dean drawled eventually and the next time Sam’s tongue flicked across his lips he captured it with his own, coaxing it inside the hot, silken cavern of his mouth and keeping it inside until their lungs ached for air.

“Me, too,” Sam whined as they stumbled into the bedroom, limbs entangled and bodies yielding against each other in a myriad of impossible ways, surrendering to the heat that coiled down their twisting spines, setting every inch on fire until there was nothing left of them but ashes and ruin.

Their kisses were hard and desperate that morning, their bodies pliant, tongues and teeth a sloppy mess as they crashed into the sheets. Their clothes couldn’t get off fast enough and even after they’d stripped each other bare, Sam kept clawing at Dean’s skin, bruising the smooth surface, claiming it with intent. Dean called Sam a “greedy little bitch,” and Sam countered with a growled “Jerk!” as he let himself be flipped over, ass up in the air and knees digging into the mattress.

Cheeks pulled apart, spread open by a pair of calloused hands, he found himself getting tongued open, that hot, wet part of Dean fucking into him until he was all loose and responsive, begging for more and moaning so prettily when he got what he’d asked for. Two fingers buried inside the boy and Dean kept rocking into Sam, tongue still working, licking around the pink rim, keeping it wet and sloppy while searching for that one spot where Sam was all slick and needy. Dean knew he’d found it when Sam sputtered the sheets with hot, white ropes of come for the first time and finally, after what felt like forever, he could feel his heart falling into a normal pace again. With Sam being ripped from his side, Dean had spent the most miserable night inside a crammed bar and only now, when he aligned his weeping cock with little brother’s twitching hole, he felt something close to peace settling inside his chest. Slamming home, cock jabbing, teeth pressing against the boy’s nape, Dean almost came with the first thrust and he had to pause briefly to regain his composure. Despite fucking around with Dean for years now, Sam was still tight like a virgin, all hot and silken inside, his cheeks baby-soft as the hunter pounded in.

“’M sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry,” Dean’s words fell like prayers from his lips as he snapped his hips, fucking into Sam with intent, letting himself be swept away by the velvet-heat and finally feeling his balls tighten. They both came with a shout, Dean’s cock scraping the boy’s prostate and sending him over the edge, come pulsing out of the tips of their rosy cocks as Sam was filled and in turn spilled, soaking the sheets thoroughly.

Their bodies felt like wax afterward, ready to melt into the mattress and each other any second. Dean was still draped over his little brother, covering the squirming, lithe body with his own and keeping him from getting cold. Beads of sweat pooled between slick skin and it was almost involuntary when Sam’s fingers found their way to Dean’s hair, slowly combing through the damp strands.

“I shouldn’t have-”

“Shhh,” Sam cut in before Dean had the chance to say something incredible stupid. “It’s fine, now sleep.”

And Dean, for once, complied, his eyes fluttering shut to the steady rhythm of Sam’s beating heart.


End file.
